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«Well?»
«You might be surprised by him. He’s got a few tricks.» Most of which wouldn’t be allowed on an official race track, but.
«And don’t underestimate me. I can do some things that I can guarantee you can’t.»
< No one surprises me. > Illegal tricks? Not his favorite.
< I don't underestimate you. I said maybe. Oh? You think you can outrace a veteran racer? > He sounds amused by the challenge.
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«Well?»
«Captain Rodimus and myself.»
When it comes to racing, Drift is wary of Blurrs. But Drift also knows no Blurr can ever out-drift Drift. On the right route, he’s king.
< Rodimus is too slow. He won't keep up. > As if he's determined of that.
< You? Huh. Never seen a vehicle like you before. You might keep up with me. > One could almost hear the smirk his mask was hiding. < No cheating, now. >
«Well?»
«Oh, yeah?» Drift grinned. «Well, if you need competition, you’ve got a couple of eager officers.»
< Yeah? Who might they be? > Because back where he was from, he was the best racer to ever be. Or maybe that was something in his own mind.
«Well?»
«Measurements would be great. Thanks.»
«I can handle designing a race track. This is my forte.» Nobody will be able to drive it but him. Corners too tight. «Honestly, the driving on this ship is the same as driving anywhere: average. But average drivers are terrible at cornering. So the mechs are probably no worse here than whatever you’re used to.»
He can’t comment on the grow up part, considering that “growing up” isn’t really a thing in his verse.
< Sending them over as soon as I compile them, then. Sir. >
< Hmm. Well, if you design something you can race on, I guarantee that I can give it a shot. I wasn't known to back down from a race, no matter where or what the track looked like. The design is the craft, the racing is the art. >
A puff of air through his vents. < Wouldn't mind a race now and again with some real competition. >
«Well?»
«How long would a sufficient sniping range have to be? The only sniping training I’m familiar with takes place outdoors, and that’s not an option here, so you’ll have to advise me.»
«And no, there’s not an obstacle course yet, but that’s definitely top of my to-do list. I hadn’t thought about adding a racing track for training purposes, but that’s a good idea. Primus knows most mechs have a lot of room for improvement on their corners.»
< Pretty long. I could send you some measurements if you want them. I'm used to building my own sniping ranges. I'll send you some notes. > And there's another round of beeps.
< Really? Mechs here can't shoot. Mechs here can't turn. Mechs here can't grow up. Frag, what can the mechs here do? > He didn't sound angry, just blunt. < Before I was a Lieutenant, I was a racer. If you want help building one of those, I can assist as well. >
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He's been patched up by a very angry Incinerator, who has a tiny face scrunched up in rage. He slaps another flexiband on the giant mech and then promptly sulks, nubs crossed over his small chassis. Blurr shrugged, air puffing from between his mask vents.
"I didn't die."
«Well?»
«It depends on what you’re into.» The only hobby of Blurr’s that Drift knew was guns. «Oh! I’m working on remodeling the training rooms. I’m hoping to appropriate some unused space to expand our facilities. I’m still working on the blueprints, and some of what we’ll be adding include longer shooting ranges. Anything specific you want to see added?»
No truer assumption. Shooting was his main interest. But, there was one other. < A sniping range. Could teach your mechs how to snipe from the longest distance. Add in realistic wind factors. You know, the basics of sniping. > And then there was beeping. Incinerator was speaking, now. Blurr waited until he was done.
< You mechs don't happen to have an obstacle course or racetrack on this giant ship, do you? >
«Well?»
«Honestly, he hasn’t served under me long enough for me to say. But if it happens again, we can assume it’s a habit, and I’ll let you know.»
< Right. I'll make sure to contact him when I can. Right now, I'm dealing with some things. > Mostly Incinerator complaining of boredom. < What is there to do around here? >
«Well?»
«And let him know that when I give him orders, they’re not optional.»
«I’ll be telling him that myself soon enough.»
< Yes, sir. >
< Is he known for disobeying commands? I can correct that. >
«Well?»
«That’s kind of what I thought. I told him to contact you. I guess you’ll have to contact him, then.»
< Chasing down my own pupil? Not very promising. I want my gun back, however. So, I'll contact him. > He is annoyed.
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«Well?»
«How is your training going?»
Drift is 90% sure these two haven’t even met yet.
< Your supposed second worst shot in the universe has yet to grace me with his stumbling presence. >
In other words, that 90% should be 100%.
«… Yeah, can’t argue with that.»
< There's not much defense to go by. >
< You do all realize you're debating over a simple trait and nothing too important, right? > Says a mech that's almost Magnus sized.
«This isn’t one of those universes. No children in this one.»
Just idiots.
< I retract my statement. I rephrase it. It is full of immature mechs. >
His nice way of saying idiots.
This whole ship is full of children.
" I already am. I’m just trying to fix them" He looks back up from his gun to see the other already seemed to have already targeted him. If his lower half of his mouth wasn’t covered, then a frown would be there.
Blurr frowned behind his mask. What was this bot trying to prove exactly? Was it a faulty weapons system? He wasn't too sure. He couldn't be too careful, either. He scoffed, air puffing from the vents on his face. "Why are they malfunctioning?"
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Drift’s going to interpret that as “bad.” «Careful. And whatever else you do, make sure to stay out of Pavonine’s melee range. And she moves fast, so that range is wider than you might expect.»
It is bad. He won't say anything, though. :: Melee isn't my style. I'm a shooter. I need range. Won't get close to her unless I have to. My optics are still undamaged, so my sight is still good from a distance. :: A snort. :: She moves fast? I move faster. My name is Blurr for a reason. ::
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Glances over towards the new comers before grimacing at hearing his guns spark out from in their compartment. The little lights going up through the small cracks of his armor as he returns back to trying to fix the problem. Hopefully these strangers will just continue to walk by then bother him with something .
Weapons onlining meant weapons in general. Which meant a threat. Blurr's optics narrowed, servos ready to draw his trusted rifle resting on his back. It was a far view, but a view never the less. His optics widened as the mechanisms inside the lens twisted and zoned in on the potential target. "I'd hold your fire if I were you." His only warning.
